


Never Have The Moon

by seraphina_snape



Series: omgcp soulmate AU [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, M/M, Panic Attack, Soul Bond, Soulmarks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-17 22:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7288969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphina_snape/pseuds/seraphina_snape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's when he reaches the last frog of the group that Jack just <i>knows</i>. He's shorter than everyone else in the room, with shaggy blond hair and warm brown eyes that Jack can't look away from even though he tries. </p><p>His wrist burns. </p><p>Jack doesn't have to lift the wristband he's wearing to know something has changed. </p><p>(Or: in which Jack doesn't react well to meeting his soulmate.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Have The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to [Mizzy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy) ♥ - not only did she help me fix all the typos and make this story better, but she also helped me find the title! (It's from the song "Stars & The Moon" as performed by Jessica Molaskey.)
> 
> Warnings: boneheaded Jack, **panic attack** , angst

They know pretty much right away that they're soulmates. 

Jack enters the locker room on a Thursday afternoon, hoping to spend some time on the ice, and interrupts the coaches giving the new frogs the big tour of Faber. Coach Murray waves him over and when Jack ambles over, dropping his duffel bag at his feet, Coach Hall introduces him to the frogs as the team captain.

"And as you can see, he sets an excellent example: training doesn't even start until tomorrow and yet here he is," he adds, chuckling. 

One or two of the frog hesitantly join in. Jack recognizes the look some of them have in their eye. _That's Bob Zimmermann's son_ , they're thinking. _I get to play with Jack Zimmermann._

It makes Jack want to hide, but he _is_ the captain and he can't run and hide whenever something makes him uncomfortable. So he forces himself to look at the frogs and memorize their faces even though he wants to avoid making eye contact. 

It's when he reaches the last frog of the group that Jack just _knows_. He's shorter than everyone else in the room, with shaggy blond hair and warm brown eyes that Jack can't look away from even though he tries. 

His wrist burns. 

Jack doesn't have to lift the wristband he's wearing to know something has changed. 

The way the frog hisses quietly and shakes his arm tells Jack it's mutual. Not that he'd expected anything else - non-mutual soulmarks are so rare that all of recorded history only knows of seven verified cases. Still there are tons of movies and books about dissonant soulmarks (although in the movies they usually turn out to match after all ), and during his darker days he'd regularly feared that he was so broken and wrong that his soulmate - if he ever found them - would be incompatible with him.

Now he knows that's not true. His soulmate is looking him straight in the eyes, rubbing his still stinging wrist. His gaze is curious, happy, but also a little challenging. 

And suddenly Jack isn't ready. How can he look this kid in the eye and promise him forever? All he would bring to any relationship is bad press, an addictive personality and hockey fanaticism, carefully wrapped in a slightly neurotic, anxiety-afflicted package. 

Jack averts his eyes and grabs his bag. He can always skate later.

#

Jack learns his soulmate's name later that day. He couldn't stand not knowing, so he asked the coaches about the new frogs after the tour was over.

Eric Bittle. 

Eighteen, fresh from Georgia, former figure skater, captain of his high school hockey team, reportedly very fast. 

Bittle has potential, and that makes Jack even more reluctant to seek him out, no matter how much he wanted to reach out and take Bittle's hand earlier. He ruins everything he touches, and right now he wants nothing more than to touch Bittle.

Which is why he can't.

(The penny-sized circle on his inner wrist that has been part of him since birth has been circled by a larger one with less defined edges, black tendrils reaching out across the skin. It looks a bit like a stylized sun. Jack thinks it's appropriate because his soulmate's hair is the color of warm sunshine.)

#

"Hey."

Jack feels the voice wrap around him like a warm blanket. He doesn't need to look up to know it's Bittle. 

"Bittle."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack can see Bittle shiver, and his own wrist suddenly feels hot and cold at the same time. 

After a long pause where Bittle stares at him and Jack pretends he's so focused on checking his pads that he doesn't notice, Bittle sinks down onto the bench. 

"I don't understand," he says softly. 

_You will,_ Jack doesn't say. Everyone realizes sooner or later that he's no good.

Jack silently stows his pads and leaves the locker room, leaving Bittle to sit on the bench and stare after him.

(The two circles on his wrist have been joined by numerous black dots to the right of the circles, looking like a cloud of fine dust sprinkled on his skin.)

#

At breakfast, Jack stares at Bittle's back as he stands in line for his food, unable and unwilling to look away. When Bittle turns around and catches him staring, he smirks a little and Jack's wrist burns with a new addition.

Bittle sits down across from him, and opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Jack picks up his tray of half-eaten food and stands up. 

"You need to eat more protein," he tells Bittle, moving away as his wrist begins to cool down.

(This time the design includes color - several purple lines move away from the larger circle, and a small half moon shape in butter yellow appears that looks like it's tangled in one of the purple lines, like something is trying to tether the moon to the two circles.)

#

Checking practice is Jack's idea. It's necessary for Bittle to improve, but it's also a way to silence that voice in his head that's urging him to get to know Bittle, to spend more time with him. He can't stay away from Bittle for too long before he becomes antsy and unfocused, and more often than not he takes his frustration out on Bittle himself. Every time he yells at Bittle his wrist aches like someone stabbed it, and Bittle looks so betrayed that Jack can hardly stand it.

He doesn't have the words to explain that he's just trying to do what's best for Bittle, so he bears the pain with stoic efficiency and hopes that Bittle doesn't _really_ hate him.

Bittle flinches away before Jack even comes within touching distance, so it's only at their fifth checking clinic that they actually touch for the first time. 

The first touch from your soulmate is supposed to be gentle and caring. Jack is such a fuck-up that his and Bittle's first touch happens when Jack lowers his shoulder and pushes it against Bittle's chest, pressing him into the boards. It's not as hard and violent as a real check since he's going at about a fifth of his usual speed and angles his shoulder so that it doesn't actually hurt Bittle, but it's not a gentle and careful touch. 

Bittle's eyes meet his and Jack can't help the startled gasp that escapes him when his entire left arm starts burning. He pulls away and looks down, seeing tendrils of black, purple and yellow snake up his arm, pushing past the edges of his wristband.

Bittle is rubbing his own arm, and suddenly Jack wants to see his mark, wants to press their arms together and look at their marks side by side to check that they're truly identical. 

Instead, he skates a few paces backwards. "Same time tomorrow, Bittle," he calls out, already halfway off the ice.

(The mark has expanded up to the middle of his forearm, delicate tendrils reaching out, curling and twisting this way and that. It looks beautiful, delicate but strong, just like Bittle. Jack puts on a long-sleeved shirt and pretends it's not there.)

#

His dad wants to come to their first game and Jack isn't sure how to feel about it.

No, that's not true. He knows how he feels; it's trying to make his dad understand that's the difficult part. Because it's not his dad, not exactly. But it is the fact that his dad is Bad Bob Zimmermann and that his presence will just add to the pressure he's under. People compare him to his dad all the time even when he's hours away in Montreal. When his dad is _right there_ , the comparisons never stop. It's not his dad's fault that he hears "you play just like your dad" as "why aren't you better than him yet?" in his head. That anyone who mentions him stepping into his dad's footsteps seems to ask why he doesn't have a Stanley Cup win under his belt yet like his old man did at his age. Jack doesn't have a problem with his dad - he has a problem with Bad Bob, and unfortunately they're one and the same person.

That Bittle of all people overhears his phone call is both good and bad. Good because Jack can't imagine wanting anyone else there to comfort him. Bittle's presence alone is enough to take his mind off things. But it's also bad because Bittle's silent support makes him want to reach out and wrap his arms around him, bury his face in Bittle's hair and close his eyes until everything but Bittle disappears. Sitting here with Bittle feels a bit like being on the ice with him, like they have a connection, an understanding that doesn't need words. Like something sparks between them whenever they're close and that's enough to recharge him.

"We should go back inside," Jack says eventually, and Bittle nods. 

At the door, Jack's hand accidentally brushes Bittle's as they both reach for the handle. 

Jack ignores the tingle on his skin and strides down the corridor with long steps that almost make Bittle run to catch up.

(The mark now stretches up towards his elbow, reaching around his forearm. Several of the tendrils have branched out, ending in little spirals, dots, hearts and flowers.)

#

Bittle wins the game and for the first time since they met Jack doesn't have to struggle to be angry and distant with him. He avoids the party later at the Haus and locks himself in his room, pretending that his anger is still real and that he still wants distance between him and Bittle.

When his window slides up a little past one a.m. and a flushed Bittle nearly falls into his bed, Jack is too stunned to do anything but watch him with wide eyes. 

"I don't get you," Bittle slurs. He climbs down from Jack's bed and wobbles over to the desk where Jack is sitting, a textbook in his lap. Bittle's holding what looks like an empty beer can, gesturing with it as he speaks. 

"I just don't understand. We're soulmates and you act like you don't even care. Worse, like you _hate_ it. Me." Bittle sets the beer can down on Jack's desk with a loud _thunk_ and spreads his arms, swaying a little. "What did I do? Please, tell me what is so wrong with me that you won't even _talk_ to me?" Bittle's voice breaks on the last word and he takes a gasping breath. "Please, Jack, what did I do to make you hate me?"

Jack feels his insides freeze. This is all wrong. Bittle is just fine, Bittle is more than fine; it's _him_ who's the problem. He's the fuck-up. The addict. The wannabe. The prodigal son who - for all of his supposed talent - has absolutely nothing to show for it. And now he's managed to fuck it up so thoroughly that Bittle thinks _he_ isn't good enough. 

"No, Bittle. Eric. _Bitty._ It's not you, I promise you. It's all me. I'm the one who can't--"

"But why?" Bittle blurts. "Why, Jack? We're great together on the ice and I think, no, I _know_ we could be amazing together off the ice. Why won't you let yourself be happy?"

Jack doesn't know how to answer that, but even if he wanted to he's not sure he could. His throat feels tight and achy, like he's been crying for hours, and his mouth is dry. 

"Jack?"

Jack gulps in a breath, and another, and tries to focus on something that would stop the maelstrom of his thoughts, but every time he tries he sees his mother's tear-stained face after his overdose as she tells him _we just want you to be happy_. And it _hurts_ because she doesn't understand. No one does, and he doesn't have the words to explain. 

"Jack, please. I'm sorry. I don't know how to help you. Please, calm down. You need to breathe, Jack."

It's like Bittle's speaking to him at a distance, muffled and a little indistinct. But the hands on his shoulders are real and _right there_ , warm and firm. They gently push him towards the bed and Jack follows because it's easier than to fight against them. And then he's on his bed, with a warm weight curled up against his side, shielding him from the world. 

Eric Bittle is in Jack's bed and it's the best and the worst thing at the same time. Having Bittle close to him is better than any coping technique. Jack's pulse slows down a little as he concentrates on Bittle's body so close to his, and then it skips when Bittle grabs his hand. Bittle puts his other hand on Jack's chest and starts talking. 

Jack hears the words but doesn't try to focus enough to discern their meaning. They're not important. What's important is the way Bittle smells, like cinnamon and cookies, the way the small movements of his fingers against Jack's chest make Jack's heart flutter, and the fact that his soft Georgian accent washes over Jack like warm summer rain. 

He falls asleep with his head on Bittle's shoulder, the fingers of their left hands intertwined between them.

#

Bittle smiles at him when they wake up, looking a little pale and worried in the early morning light coming in through the window.

"How are you feeling?" 

Jack's first impulse is to grunt out a gruff "fine", but now that he's looked into Bittle's eyes it's like he can't look away. He feels more rested than he has all semester and the thought of Bittle getting up and out of Jack's bed fills him with dread. 

"I'm okay," he says eventually. "Thanks."

"Sorry I pushed you. I know I'm not entitled to anything here. I just... I've been dreaming about finding my soulmate since I was a little kid and it's been... different from what I imagined. And I keep having this feelin' that I did something wrong," Bittle says, his eyes filling up with tears as he quietly continues, "that I should have been better so that you'd at least _like_ me."

"No!"

It comes out harsher than Jack expects, and Bittle flinches hard enough to make Jack reach out and brush his fingers over Bittle's neck. "Bitty, no, it's not you. I'm the problem here."

Bittle laughs, sounding hollow and bitter - not at all like the sunny, warm Bittle Jack knows. "You can't even stand to be in the same room as me for too long, Jack."

"It's not because of you, don't you see? You're perfect! You're funny and you take care of people and you're so kind and generous and your pies are amazing and you're gorgeous and I just-- I can't--"

Bittle stares at him, his eyes wide. "But why?" he whispers. 

Jack can only shake his head. _I don't deserve you,_ he thinks. _I wish I did, but I don't. You're too good for me; I'd just ruin you._

"No, you wouldn't."

Jack blinks because he could have sworn he didn't say any of this out loud. But he must have because Bittle gently cradles Jack's face in his hands. 

"You deserve a soulmate just like anyone else, Jack Zimmermann," he says firmly. "And what's more, _I_ deserve my soulmate, too. Watching you put a wall between us every time we're in a room together is hurting both of us and I won't have it anymore, do you hear me? I don't care if it takes the next fifty years to convince you that we belong together, but you're not getting rid of me."

"Bittle--"

"I'm not asking you to jump into a relationship with me," Bittle continues as if Jack hasn't spoken. "But please stop avoiding me. Stop running off after checking practice and stop hiding from me. I know it won't be easy, but I want to try, Jack. Giving something up as a failure before I even tried it isn't in my nature, and I know it's not in yours either."

Bittle nods, once, and then sits up. He tugs Jack up into a sitting position and then slowly, carefully wraps his arms around Jack's shoulders. Jack hesitates a moment before returning the hug, breathing in the scent of Bitty among the sweat, alcohol and the general slept-in-my-clothes funk.

When they pull apart, Jack feels lighter than he has in months, possibly years. He ignores the voice telling him he's making a mistake in letting Bittle get so close - what does he have to lose anyway? 

Bittle tells him to take a shower and when Jack comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Bittle is gone. On his desk is a note with a number and 'Samwell counselor' written on it, and his phone is blinking with a new text message. It's from Bittle.

_Checking practice. Tomorrow at 5._

(Jack notices the changed mark in the shower - it's hard not to, considering the new extent of it - and with Bitty gone he takes the time to look at every new detail. The purple, yellow and black tendrils now curl up to his shoulder, some branching out towards his chest, others snaking down his shoulder blade and towards his spine. Several more circles-within-circles have appeared, settling in among the multi-colored tendrils like ornaments.)

#

It takes Jack three weeks to make an appointment, and four more until he feels comfortable enough to talk about his problem. Bittle hasn't brought up anything that happened between them other than to give Jack pointed looks whenever he starts making excuses to be elsewhere when Bittle is in the room.

Slowly, Jack is starting to get used to Bittle's presence, the tiny spark of excitement whenever Bittle speaks and the flutter in his heart when they accidentally touch. He starts talking to Bittle during checking practice and finds himself sitting in the Haus kitchen when he knows Bittle is coming over to bake something. 

It's gradual enough that Jack surprises himself when - nearly four months after the night they slept together in Jack's bed - he bends down and kisses Bittle, right there in the Haus kitchen. It's a chaste, gentle kiss that makes Jack's lips tingle and his chest burn. 

He rests his forehead against Bittle's when the kiss ends, absolutely thrilled when Bittle's hands come to rest on his chest, fingers trailing over the areas that had burned the hottest just moments before. 

"Are you sure, Jack?" Bittle asks. "There's no need to rush."

"I'm sure," he says, and he _is_. He's still sure that he doesn't deserve Bittle. But Bittle is right, too. _He_ deserves to be loved, and nobody is ever going to love him more than Jack. 

"I'm glad," Bittle says, his fingers curling around the fabric of Jack's shirt to tug him down for another kiss.

(Jack's mark has stretched over half of his chest, creating a beautiful spiral over his heart with several tendrils branching off it in many directions. A matching spiral rests over Bitty's heart. Later that week, Jack has the opportunity to watch Bitty's mark grow and extend down his back to brush against the top of his buttocks and wrap around his hips. He follows the lines with his fingertips and smiles when Bitty shivers and gasps under his hands.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
